


Up Is Hard

by Relvetica



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Body Modification, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relvetica/pseuds/Relvetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The physical and neural modifications made to members of the Legionnaire squads were not a simple or inexpensive set of procedures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Is Hard

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure that this is all canonically incorrect by some measure or other. I'm comfortable with that.

"We're going to start easy," Stinger told him. "I'm going to toss you a ball, and you'll try to catch it."

The physical and neural modifications made to members of the Legionnaire squads were not a simple or inexpensive set of procedures. Putting a third set of limbs on a tetrapod made it not a tetrapod anymore; humans were simply not designed to do the things the Legionnaires did. But what humans were designed to do had long been irrelevant. Most splice breeders were sure to introduce a certain flexibility to their creations at the genetic level, making them better candidates for the introduction of features that could not be bred for reliably. They were therefore a more attractive product to the right contractors.

The neural implants came first. Nerve bundles rooted in the brain and spine to make use of the future prosthetics possible; an innate feel for fluid mechanics; an instinct to take to the air. None of these things were natural to splices bred to be powerful enough for military use. During the recovery period from these preliminary surgeries, the candidates would stumble and lose their balance when they walked normally, easily injuring themselves and damaging the work. They had to be kept under supervision on base, and they usually needed quieting.

This was the condition the lycantant named Wise was in when Stinger was assigned to begin the physical therapy that would lead into his training: woozy from tranquilizers and looking up at Stinger and his own fully integrated prosthetics with apathy creeping toward curiosity. His breeder's brand was still raw and red on his neck, marking his recent sale.

Singles bred from pack lines were risky investments. Individual lycantants were an especially big gamble: forcefully removed from their litters, they either fell back on solitary survival instincts, or they stopped eating and died within weeks. Insurance policies could be purchased, but the payout would rarely come close to covering the cost of the sale in addition to the new owners' customizations. Death could occur from any number of things, and legally it was extremely difficult to sue a breeder for lost income; refunds were unheard of. 

Stinger was fond of his own breeder and kept in touch with her, but he could tell at a glance that Wise's had gotten rid of him as soon as he'd found a military branch willing to take him. Breaking up litters seemed like an exceptionally cruel practice, but they had to keep the breeding stock in good condition, and this one, small for his age and breeding line, wouldn't be able to keep up with a deployed pack. The drugs kept him from openly affecting either despair or defiant pride; he didn't look particularly promising. But the investment _had_ been made. Lycantant runts weeded out from their siblings and reduced in price were still expensive. Big gambles could pay off, and even a lycantant weak for its breed could been stunningly competent if it had the will to be.

Wise stared at him -- well, he stared somewhere around his collarbone -- and quietly repeated, "A ball?"

Stinger showed it to him and threw it up into the air once to demonstrate its weight. Then he gently tossed it to Wise. He caught it easily, frowning. "Good," Stinger said, and he stepped forward to take it back. Wise leaned away just a little as he did, but he didn't resist.

"Sir," Wise asked, "why are we playing with a ball?"

He was behaving with typical submission, but there was an edge of adolescent petulance in his voice. _I'm not a dog_ went unspoken but not unheard. Stinger smiled without showing his teeth and said, "The prosthetics will be grafted over your existing shoulder blades. Right now your brain thinks you have two sets of arms. We have to make sure it knows where your arms are before the grafts are actually made."

Wise's frown deepened. "I... know where my arms are, sir."

"Of course you do," Stinger said, "but it's not that simple. Let's try again."

He tossed the ball higher this time, over Wise's head. Under normal conditions it would be another easy catch, but as soon as the ball left Wise's line of vision he flinched upward, only raising his arms to the level of his shoulders. He winced as the ball struck the wall behind him.

"It's okay," Stinger said. He went to retrieve the ball as it rolled off into a corner; he could feel Wise's eyes on him every moment his back was to him. "It's a good sign, actually. All the new neural mapping is online." He turned back and smiled again, neutral and a little unnatural. The sheaf from the breeder had specified: don't show teeth around a lycantant until he's comfortable with you. "Now your reflexes need to learn how to read the map."

Wise's eyes crept upward, avoiding Stingers', and came to rest on his wings. Stinger let him look, raising them and fanning them out slightly. Fully outstretched, he'd be able to touch both walls of the recovery room, but he knew that display would come across as a threat. Wise flexed his shoulders a little. "I'm… I'm going to have those? Sir?"

"Yes," Stinger said. "Once you're ready. You were told what the implants were for, weren't you?"

Wise raised one arm, carefully, and rubbed his pale hair. He suffered pheomelanin dilution, which his breeder had apparently considered a greater flaw than his size. Stinger couldn't really see why, but splice breeding was a culture with its own rules. "Sort of," Wise said. "When everyone was exchanging seals, they said improvements were going to be made." He sighed, a very druggy sound, and added, "Anything would probably be an improvement."

Whether Wise would survive on his own or not was hard to say. Stinger should have been firmly on guard against the boy from the very moment he felt his heart break a little.


End file.
